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Submitted: February 27, 2014

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Submitted: February 27, 2014

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Chapter Seven

This is it. Answer time. Something tells me this journey will come to an end very shortly. The only question is: How? Will I discover my father died? Will I be lucky enough to find him here in
Africa? Will I receive this much needed closure? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

According to Sanchchit, my father spoke of losing his money to a tribe in Africa: a group of people known as the Afar tribe. He
didn’t really have much money to begin with.

I blame myself for that.

He had only a few thousand dollars when he was in Africa and he lost it all to this tribe. All except for enough to purchase a
plane ticket and travel to one final place, until he could make more money and go someplace else. Why he chose India is a mystery to me.

The Afar tribe consists of 290,000 people. Compared to the vast population of India, this, to me, is paradise.

But of course, that’s just one tribe. It’s not like that’s the population of the continent or even the country I’m in, which by
the way is Eritrea.

Needless to say (but I’m gonna say it anyway), I previously wanted to get out of Mumbai as soon as possible. So after speaking
with Sanchchit, I didn’t stick around much longer. All I did was purchase and eat some awful Indian food, bang a girl named Aishani (meaning the Indian Goddess Durga), left her after having
unprotected sex, and then hopped on a plane and swung over here to Eritrea, Africa.

Sometimes I wonder if Aishani will be pregnant. I wonder if she’ll have the baby. I wonder if my child will be named after a God
or Goddess with some good background information. The better the God, the better the child. Of course, to that child, I will be God. Invisible. All-knowing. Not there for the kid when he/she needs
me the most. That’s me.

But anyway, back to Africa. What I need to do now is find members of the Afar tribe and see where that takes me. I still have the
photograph snug in the wallet of my back pocket, next to my ten thousand dollars cash.

I have a heavy wallet.

Of course I will have absolutely no use for that money while I’m here. I guess I’m just one of those people who likes to have a
lot of what I don’t need.

The reason why I will not be needing this ten thousand dollars (most likely) is because the Afar tribe is unique to what we
Americans are typically used to. For us, money is the currency. For them, it’s animals.

Sheep, goats, and cows are used by the Afar tribe for milk and meat.

Horses, donkeys, and camels are used for transportation.

In Eritrea, in the Afar tribe, the wealth of a person is measured in the quantity and quality of their collection of animals.

This is the currency. To the Afar tribe, paper money, like the ten thousand dollars I have in my wallet, is completely
meaningless.

Still, I don’t quite have all the details, but if this is the case, then how in the world did my father go from having a little
money to being broke? What was it about his trip to Eritrea and his encounter with the Afar tribe that caused him to lose what little he had?

Usually, my travels are all over the place, eclectic, random, mixed.

But recently, it seems like on this journey to find out what happened to my father, I have been entering into stranger and
stranger territories with weirder and odder customs, rituals, beliefs, you get the point.

From Paris to Japan to India to the Afar tribe, it seems like I’m entering into newer and newer circles of hell.

Dante’s inferno: The idiot version.

But of course, for me, while I think these places are definitely getting stranger, I wouldn’t exactly call it hell. I would only
call it that if it was extremely overpopulated like Mumbai. I really can’t stand that kind of thing. Have I said that already? Yes? Well I’m still glad I’m saying it again.

It truly is hell.

And the saddest part is it’s my fault. It’s my fault, it’s my father’s fault; it’s because of us there’s so many people in the
world. So many clueless people without closure. So many sons and daughters growing up without their father. Sometimes I wonder if one of my kids will ever do for me what I’m doing for my father.

Vicious cycle.

Dubaku is the name of one of the main representatives of the Afar tribe as far as I’m concerned. His name means “eleventh born
child.”

I kind of want to know what my African name might be and so I contemplate asking him what one might name their African kid if he
was the ninety-sixth born child, much like I am (at least that’s a ball park estimate).

But I refrain from asking this, as I don’t want to get sidetracked.

Dubaku takes me into the African jungle to meet up with other members of the tribe. When we arrive at our destination, I am
introduced to Enu (fifth born child), Mosi (first born child), and a very attractive woman named Kunto (third born child).

They’re not siblings or anything like that.

These are just their names and meanings (if you can call those meanings).

I guess unlike a lot of these other cultures I’ve been witnessing recently, the Africans have a much lazier view of name
symbolization.

Or whatever. Maybe I’m just rambling.

Dubaku tells me he knows nothing of a white man doing anything vicious that involved their tribe in over twenty years. He starts
making something for me to eat and enjoy.

Fun fact about the Afar Tribe: Members like to create a porridge by using a papyrus root known as burri, which is essentially a
type of milk mix.

This is what Dubaku makes for me, while I take out the photograph and pass it around, so that it can be visible to Enu, Mosi, and
Kunto.

I’m going to bang Kunto tonight.

Surprise.

This tribe is commonly known as being a warrior tribe. Naturally, I notice their vast collection of artillery. It’s now that I
finally think: how on earth did my dad get mixed up with these kinds of people.

Of course, they’re a defensive tribe. They would never attack for no reason, so I of course have nothing to fear, unless I want to
get into a fight with them. All I have to do is play nice and I’ll be okay.

Mosi suddenly comes up with something. He takes a long firm look at the photograph of my father and says he remembers him. He says
it was around ten or eleven years ago when my father was there communicating with the Afar tribe.

Just to stay accurate, given what I learned previously from Bruce, Ida, and Sanchchit, let’s call it eleven years ago.

Mosi is not surprised that Dubaku does not know my father. However, he shows Enu the photograph and Enu takes a long look at it
and realizes he knows my father as well. The two of them, along with a few other tribe members had apparently had a brief relationship with my father ten or eleven years ago.

This I hear from Mosi.

He goes on to say that my father didn’t have a lot of money. He was in Africa to make money, by being a drug dealer.

My hero.

He wanted to sell cocaine to the African tribes and he mostly got middle fingered for it. Many of the tribes he had run into
weren’t into doing drugs and the ones who were didn’t want to buy from a strange white guy from America.

It’s tough to trust people in this modern day and age. Especially foreigners.

He soon discovered that there were many tribes like the Afar; tribes who use animals as currency. He realized this and so he
collected a camel and marched it into Eritrea. This is where he met Mosi, Enu, and a few other Afar tribe members. He pretended to be a nice guy.

Everyone’s a liar.

He offered the Afar his camel for no charge, simply out of the kindness of his heart.

Free money.

There was one catch, however. He said that it was the Afar people’s lucky day. He said that in addition to the camel, there was
also in it for them a small, but free sample of cocaine. On the house.

The Afar people were skeptical and did not have any reputation for drug using. The entire concept of dragging the line was as
foreign to them as my father was. Still, they were a very open and daring people, so they accepted the offer.

And they got high out of their god damn minds.

And naturally, they wanted more. But they couldn’t get any new cocaine, unless they could give something to my father in return.

He took everything from the Afar people; land, women, everything he could. Everything except paper money, but he was okay with
that.

It took years for the Afar people to ditch the habit.

They were stronger men and women than I could ever be. Me and my smoking. It really is an addiction. Hell, I’m smoking a cigarette
right now while Mosi tells the story.

The Afar people had been humiliated and shamed beyond their wildest nightmares. My father took everything from them. Out of anger,
they threatened to kill him. Then, they took a lot of his money. They purposefully left him with just enough to grab a plane ticket and leave the country. Afterwards, they burned what remained of
the money they got from him. After all, it wasn’t about them wanting money. It was about the fact that my father liked money, and his suffering is what the Afar tribe wanted for their utter
humiliation.

Payback.

Dubaku passes me my porridge and so I put out my cigarette and start eating. I thank him for the food and the hospitality. Of
course, now that Enu and Mosi know I’m the son of the man who caused their people such horrible shame, they didn’t exactly smile at me. Dubaku, who had never seen my father but who had heard the
story, was angry and hesitant in simply passing the porridge he promised for me.

This is what it’s like to be surrounded by people who hate you.

It’s not fun.

I thank the Afar people profusely. I feel kind of bad. Still, I need more information. All I know right now is that my dad was a
jerk ass hole and a drug dealer wanting to get innocent people hooked on bad drugs, and that he suffered for his sins and moved on to India where he tried to steal from people, before… doing what?
What happened next? I need more information!

This is what I yell at Mosi and Enu.

They have nothing.

It’s not that they don’t want to tell me anything else, because they hate me. It’s true that they hate me. They just don’t have
anything else. They’re not lying about that. Trust me. I’m a great liar. I can tell.

Some of this isn’t much of a surprise to me, actually. I’ve known my dad had been into some illegal activities so that he could
make money. Cocaine dealer? Didn’t know that exactly, but it’s no surprise to me. Like I’ve been saying; some people will do most anything to keep on traveling, vacationing, moving. Some people
just have to keep going. For me, I was lucky enough to already have enough money. For my dad, it was more difficult. He had to do what he had to do and what he had to do was break the law.

I see that there is no more information I can get from the kind, but angry Afar tribe. They continue to stare at me with looks of
anger on their faces. Mosi didn’t have to tell me that story. I can see all that history spread across their pissed off facial expressions.

I tell them as I eat my porridge, I’m sorry for what my father did to you. I hope you’ll understand that while I am ashamed of his
actions, he is still my father and I still have love and respect for him. Cigarette?

Like father like son.

“In our culture,” Mosi says, “a father is someone to be respected always. Love has nothing to do with it.”

I ask Mosi if he were in my shoes, would he still respect my father?

He says, “Even given what I have been raised to believe, no.”

Ironic, huh?

For anyone who knows what I’m all about, it might be clear that I am without a soul or evil or whatever, since you know, I like to
have a lot of unprotected sex. I guess I just don’t really have much of a good soul; just a father who’s missing, whom I both love and respect.

That’s why I do what I do.

Still, now that I know what my father did to these poor people, it kind of changes my perspective on things, very slightly, but
still enough for me not to want to bang Kunto.

So I just leave, without any new information, back into my big fat world of nothingness.

Dead end.

And without knowing where to go next, for some bizarre reason, I give Steve a call.

Chapter Eight

There was this big beautiful scarlet oak tree you and Laura used to hang out by. It was nice. It was quaint. It was just one of the many joys of living in your quiet little town. The two of you
were getting older. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. You were carving your names in the tree with a “plus” sign in between and a heart around it all. Typical, but cute. You were falling in love.

And you were even starting to forget your father. As the years went by, it really looked as though he was telling you the truth
when he said he was never coming back.

Laura would sometimes leave town with her folks to go on family vacations. Sometimes you would ask your mom if you could go along
with Laura, just one time at least. And every time you asked, the answer was always no. She would say to you, “I don’t want you leaving town. I don’t want you to become him. Besides, we have fun
here, you and I, and your friends, and everyone here who loves you. What’s wrong with just staying here forever?”

For a while, you barely even thought about your father. Then, suddenly there was a change. No, he didn’t come back. It wasn’t
that. It was a lawyer named Dave.

Dave met with you and your mom and said that because you were coming close to turning eighteen, meaning you would be legally
emancipated, it was time for you to get something your father left for you.

Your father didn’t break the law. He was just amazing at saving money. All over the world, he didn’t have one job. He had many,
and sure enough it was this very moment when you knew you were the chosen one, the chosen son, the one kid out of hundreds who your father might have preferred best. What he had left you was five
million dollars. You were set for life.

You were told you had to wait a couple weeks to receive the money, as you could only have it while being legally emancipated. This
is what Dave, the lawyer had said.

This was an amazing time for you. In addition to the money, you were also growing up in more ways then you could have ever
imagined before. You and Laura had truly fallen in love, and you knew it, because you lost something: your virginity; as did she.

You and Laura had made love and it was the greatest thing you ever felt in your life. She had loved you more than ever at that
moment. “Now, don’t go having too much of that with other women, you hear?” she said.

Not like you would ever even think about doing that.

That’s a joke, by the way.

There’s these two guys in suits who you met the next day. They seemed like really well-put-together kind of guys. They were feds
named Agent Tucker and Agent Harrison. They wore sunglasses and black ties, just like in the movies.

They asked if they could come inside your house and your mom said no. She asked them why they were here? What did they want?

Agent Tucker said, “Well ma’am, let me just say your husband is in quite a lot of trouble.” He looked pretty serious. This was no
joke.

“And what, may I ask, has my quote unquote husband done?”

You didn’t remember exactly what they said, but a few words that really stuck with you were as follows: “Drug trafficking,
attempted homicide, embezzlement, arson,” and of course the big one: “treason”.

He really was in quite a heap of trouble.

Agent Harrison said, “So may we search the house, or do we have to get a warrant and then come back? Your choice lady.”

Agent Tucker peeked his head in a little and noticed you making yourself a tuna sandwich in the kitchen. “Son?” he asked. “May we
ask you a few questions?”

You had heard what they were saying and you didn’t want to get your father in trouble. “I don’t know anything”, you said to
Agent’s Tucker and Harrison.

“You sure?” asked Agent Harrison.

“Haven’t been helping your father with any of this, have you son?” asked Tucker.

“No, of course not. This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

They felt like you might have been hiding something or maybe it was your mother. Either way, they weren’t finished yet. They left
to try and get a warrant. Your mother told you they would most likely be unsuccessful with that and quit bugging you guys after a while.

Soon after, you told Laura about everything. The five million dollars, the agents, and the fact that all this reminded you that
you still haven’t gotten over your father. You were still obsessed with him and still believed he might come back. You also told her he obviously must have loved you more than the other kids if it
was you and no one else who got this money. It’s not like there’s much more money than that, even from your father with all the jobs he had.

The feds also knew that your five million dollars was clean. They knew your father made a fair and decent living all over the
world, until he changed and got involved with the wrong people, in some state, or some country, or in a more plural sense, all over the Earth. Either way, that money was still yours fair and
square, but they did still suspect you of possibly having something to do with the new crimes. You are his favorite son after all.

A few days later, you and your mother went to get some groceries. When you arrived back home, Agent’s Tucker and Harrison were
waiting for you upstairs. Your mom noticed them and dropped the grocery bags in fear. You walked right up to them and stared at them with a look of confusion on your face as they stared back at you
with a look of disgust and pride.

Agent Tucker said to you, “You’re one crazy son of a bitch, you know that?”

Harrison said, “How could you lie to us? I thought we were friends.”

None of that was true. You didn’t lie and you and they were never considered friends. They were staring at you from inside your
room. Then Agent Tucker asked, “You ever go anywhere with your dad? Did he ever take you with him to any of these exotic places?”

You told them no.

“Liar!” yelled Harrison. “Sorry,” he calmed down. “But still, liar.” Next he opened up your closet to reveal your wardrobe, full
of nothing but shirts and all kinds of other clothing from the places you had never been to before in your life.

“I really haven’t been to any of these places,” you pleaded with them.

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Sure, whatever. But still, don’t leave town. Not like you would, right? Since you’ve never left before.”

Sarcastic, much?

Not much happened in those next couple weeks, but after a while you had enough. Enough accusations, enough falsities, enough
doubt. It was time for you to figure out what your father was doing. It was time to find him again. You told those feds and Laura that you wouldn’t leave town, but sure enough you did. You left
with your five million and never looked back. The worst of it was leaving Laura: the only girl you ever loved and you just walked out on her.

Chapter Nine

But now it’s time to stop talking to yourself. You do this all the time. You go on airplanes, use the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Hell, you’re doing it right now. Stop that.

Self reflection.

Sometimes, it’s good just to know who you are. What did you do after that? After you left? You found yourself at a gas station.
You were confused, upset, and feeling a whole string of other complicated emotions. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Ultimately, you were stressed. That’s when you saw an advertisement on
a billboard nearby that read, “Stressed? One word: Inhale”. The image was of a hot, large-breasted woman smoking a cigarette. Then you remembered your father used to smoke. This is how that
addiction started.

The rest is history. You tried to find him, tried to be like him, tried to find him, and then gave Steve a call. Now, stop looking
at yourself in the mirror and let’s get back to it.

They say the mind thinks a thousand thoughts at once.

Maybe that’s as good an explanation as any for why I gave Steve a call. There were so many things going through my head and I knew
I had to go back to my normal boring routine of traveling the Earth and visiting every place in the world. Yawn.

Or maybe I just wanted someone to talk to. Not truthfully of course, but just a little social interaction with someone who’s not a
woman who’s pants I’m trying to crawl into. So I gave Steve a call and asked if we could hang out.

Steve, who I met in Japan. Steve, who I saw again recently. Steve, who’s brother Lou is an airplane pilot.

That’s where I am right now. The bathroom of an airplane who’s only passengers are me and Steve with Lou flying. We’re having us a
real guy’s day out. Remember, my name is Stan right now. That’s how Steve knows me.

Also remember he knows I got hit by a car when I was younger and so I have a lot of money; enough to leisurely travel constantly
for the rest of my life. He must envy me for that, seeing how he has to work as a male stewardess among many other jobs. He’s making money the more honest way, unlike my dad who went all
psycho-drug-lord with it.

Currently, we are cruising at an altitude of 34,000 feet.

Fun fact.

Here’s another one. Airplanes need to go from one place to another. Sometimes, they get from airport to airport via flights, like
with passengers. However, for our purposes, the airplane just needs to get from one airport to another. This is not a flight. This is just a pilot taking a plane to an airport, and I get to go on
the ride with Lou, a few others flying the plane, and his brother Steve. Airplanes somehow seem quieter with less people on them. I like that.

Hypocrite.

Now, I step out of the bathroom to join Steve and chat with him about stuff. Yet, sure enough, something about him shocks me.

He’s not as great and honest as I thought he was.

When you travel as much as I do, you find that after a while, there aren’t many surprises left in the world. Life becomes a big
movie where you know not only how it ends (death), but also many other parts to it. Life ends up becoming one repetitive rerun, no matter how many countries and states and continents you travel to.

That is why it actually relieves me to see Steve aiming a gun at my chest and threatening me with death.

Nice.

Way to go Steve. I like you now more than ever.

He says, “Shut up! Now you have money, right? Give it here! All of it!”

Apparently, Steve only liked me for my money. He was waiting for this opportunity for me to connect with him for quite some time.
Now, he finally has the chance to stiff me for everything I have on me. Luckily for him, he’s gonna get ten thousand dollars cash today. I’m happy to help out with that.

I turn around and notice Lou on the other side. He left the cockpit for a moment, I suppose, to stare at me with a gun in one hand
and a parachute in the other which he throws my way. I’m starting to figure out what’s about to happen, but Lou and Steve explain it to me anyway. They tell me they’re gonna take my wallet and then
have me parachute out of the plane. Currently, we are cruising just over the Atlantic Ocean. This is where I will die.

It’s funny. I never thought it would end like this. Thank you Steve and Lou for this wonderful surprise. And here, I thought it
would be smoking or STDs. Nope. It’s drowning or getting eaten by a hungry shark in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I love it!

I throw Steve my wallet and he opens it up to find nothing but ten thousand dollars cash and that cherished photograph of my
father.

“Get your parachute on!” yells Lou. “Steve, how much is that?”

“It’s- It’s a pretty good amount. Let me just put it at that. No credit cards?”

That’s me. No credit cards. Always just cash and my father. That’s me. That’s who I am. Speaking of which, I ask Steve if I could
please just hold on to that photograph. It’s of no value to him anyway, so he gives it to me. Then, they open up the hatch and I go flying out with nothing in my pockets but that photograph.

I fall fast, then slower after my parachute deploys. I hit the water and prepare for death. And then I look to my left and then to
my right and could you believe it? There is an island.

As I swim closer and closer, I realize this island is a place I’ve never seen or been to before. It is an uncharted island. I
realize I’m like Christopher motherfucking Columbus here. I’m discovering new land. I could not be happier right now.

I finally get there. I kiss the sand and hold my hands up high in the air as a sign of triumph. Pointless discovery. Pointless
victory. Pointless survival. Hooray for me.

That’s when I suddenly notice there are people living here. They are brown, sort of like Native Americans. They wear tattered
clothes and seem like they might be savage. But sure enough they speak English and say, “Welcome kind traveler. How may we assist you?”

I ask for hospitality and they say that will be fine. They say they don’t get many visitors. They say it’s nice to see me. That’s
when I show them the photograph. What the hell right? After all, I do show it to everyone I meet when I travel. I ask, “Do you know this man?”

One of the natives who I pass the photograph to takes one look and then begins laughing. After a while, he passes it to the others
and they all start laughing. They laugh hysterically, leaving me there confused and awkward, as I have missed the joke. What the hell is so damn funny, I ask.

“We’re sorry sir, but this man you show us here. Well, how do I put this? He is God.”

I don’t know if it’s that revelation or the heat, but it is at this point that I pass out cold.

Chapter Ten

Back when I was a kid, I would go to church a lot. One day, I asked my priest why can’t I see God? I mean if he’s so great, how come he’s invisible?

The priest answered my question with, “Well my son, God isn’t really invisible. You don’t realize it, but you do see him
everywhere you go. Whenever there are people doing good deeds, being kind to one another, following the ten commandments, that is God’s doing. God’s face is on the faces of all the people who
believe most deeply in his teachings. So, therefore if you think about it, he’s not invisible at all. You see him all the time, almost everywhere you go.”

He would lie to you if you saw him. If he were to introduce himself to you, he’d say he was Bob, a salesman, or Mike, a law
student, or Rick, a college drop out. He would never tell you he was God, because who could believe that? Suddenly, it’s all starting to add up.

There’s another Christian belief I heard once that states that fathers are models for God. When you’re young, you see your father
as God. You do not as God teaches, but as your father teaches. He made you in his image and you believe what he tells you to believe. If he tells you to worship the Christian God, then you do it,
but not because Christian God is so great. No, you do it, because your father told you to. That makes him the greatest God of all.

Now, it’s all starting to make sense.

I suppose I’m the son of God. The chosen one. The destined one. The one son he ever loved and the one son who ever carried on His
legacy to its fullest potential. That’s me.

I’m still passed out until I hear a voice saying, “Wake up sleepy head.” It sounds like Laura’s voice. I think for a moment that
maybe I’m still back at home in my cozy little town. Maybe I’m still living with my mom. Maybe I’m still a kid. Maybe I never left Laura after all. Maybe this whole meaningless adventure into
nothingness was all just a horrible nightmare. Maybe it wasn’t real at all.

But once again, I’m wrong. It’s real. The voice is not Laura’s. It’s one of the natives, who notices now that I am starting to
wake up. It’s a woman’s voice. She is standing next to a boy, who seems to be her son and who seems to look kind of like a young me in some way, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He wears a
Universal Orlando t-shirt that I would never expect one of these natives to wear. Then, I suddenly realize that for the first time in my life, I am meeting one of my
siblings.

I have so many of these siblings, but it’s a big world. It makes more sense that I would never run into any of them. Yet, sure
enough, there he is.

My father must be in his early sixties at this time (if he’s still alive that is), so to think he had sex with this woman who
looks to be forty seems a bit odd, but then again that’s my dad.

Pobody’s nerfect.

Maybe, things will finally start to clear up here. Maybe I landed on this island for a reason. Maybe it’s all a matter of destiny.
Either way, I’m about to find out.

The woman who tells me to wake up is also videotaping me with a camcorder that isn’t actually functional.

A weapon of the generation.

I ask her where she got that and she tells me God gave it to her after the two of them had sex to form Vincent.

“So that’s your name?” I ask my young brother.

He says “yes” and then he asks what my name is. I wonder if I should tell him. I think that maybe I should, since he is the first
of my siblings I have ever actually met. Usually, I lie about my identity to others. Maybe it’s because deep down, I want the whole world to see me how I see my father: A man of mystery who lies to
you and all you have to remember him by is that image of him that you either keep stored deep within your mind or deep within your back pocket.

Before I can answer, a much larger male native enters the hut where I am staring with great intent at my brother and step mother.
He says his name is Douglas and he is happy to meet me.

I ask why and he says it is because the people of this island had been waiting for my arrival for the last five years, ever since
God left them.

Douglas next tells me that shortly before teaching the natives many things and returning to the heavens, God told them that there
might soon come a day when His son would return to continue His teachings as He had done for five long years. Afterwards, He ascended up to Heaven, just like He descended when He had first arrived.

“So please,” Vincent says. “Tell us all you know about Heaven. I hear it’s enormous.”

He means Earth by the way. I know this, but I figure if they want to call it Heaven, then whatever, I can go with that. However,
before I go and tell them all about my travels, I still have a few questions of my own.

I peek out of the hut and notice there’s a lot of natives outside staring in at me; staring with happiness and hope; staring at
me; worshipping me, almost as if-

“So you all think… That I’m the son of God?”

“Aren’t you?” Douglas asks. “You did show us that photograph of God after all. Only His son could have such a thing.”

“That’s great and all, and believe me I’m flattered, but what about Vincent over here. He’s a son of God as well, isn’t he?”

Douglas says, “Vincent is a son of God, but it is you who is the son of God.” He goes on to say that he and his
people are aware that God has many children, one of whom is Vincent, but that His ultimate son is me, because I’m the one who fell from the sky just as He did, and I’m the one who has been carrying
on His work, and it’s me who lives entirely in His image. I am the ultimate son of God.

My next question is, “So what exactly did my Father tell you people anyway? What happened here exactly?”

Douglas tells me that ten years ago a Man fell from the sky into the water and then swam to their island. He claimed He came from
Heaven and He called Himself God. I have no idea why He did such a thing. Maybe it was because He had created so many children whom He rarely ever helped or even visited. Maybe it was because He
had done so much and had been to so many places that He felt like He had seen more than any mere mortal could ever even hope to see (other than myself, that is). Or maybe it was just because He was
probably doing a lot of cocaine at this point and therefore had just gone insane.

“After His arrival,” Douglas went on to say, “He taught us many things. He taught us to speak English and understand different
customs and cultures from all over Heaven. He told us Heaven is a huge place, full of all kinds of people who believe in all kinds of different ideas, philosophies, and religions. He said Heaven
was more colorful than we could ever imagine.”

I say, “So you’re saying you didn’t know English before my Father came along. How were you all able to learn it so fast? I mean
five years is quite some time, but to learn a foreign language so fluently, how could that happen?”

Douglas says, “I guess we’re all just incredibly smart. Or maybe we’re not even human. We could be aliens from another planet,
sent here for some reason. Who knows.”

It’s not like anyone has ever discovered this island or seen or learned from these people before, except for God of course, so
maybe Douglas has a good point.

He says, “Your Father taught us many things. He taught us to speak, to act properly, to fish, to hunt, to dance. The list goes on
and on. Then, just five years ago, He left and said that there may come a day when-“

“-Yeah, yeah. I know this part. Now, I’m here, the son of God. All hail me, etcetera, etcetera.” The funny thing is that what’s on
my mind more than anything right now isn’t the fact that a bunch of strangers are literally worshipping me like a God. What’s on my mind at this moment is the fact that I envy all these strangers.
They got what I never got: someone to teach them how to fish and hunt and be men. They got a teacher and a father, which is more than I ever got.

Then I remember his name is Douglas and my brother’s name is Vincent. This leads me to think about the Indians and how they’re
named after Gods. I also think about how the Africans are named after numbers and how the Japanese are named after virtues. Everybody had names with meanings behind it. I never knew what my name
meant, but I’m sure it meant something. I realize these names must mean something as well. I ask Douglas why his name is Douglas and I ask Vincent why his name is Vincent. They each tell me the
same thing.

They say, “No reason. Just because.”

Why my Father gave them these names I will never know. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. Maybe, it’s not our names that make us who we
are, but what we do with our lives afterwards. Maybe that is what truly defines who we are. Or maybe I’m just rambling again.

Fun fact: Your name doesn’t make you who you are.

Fun fact: I feel really depressed right now.

Fun fact: My life doesn’t have a lot of meaning.

Fun fact: I’m totally miserable.

Fun fact: I’m the son of God.

Afterwards, Douglas and Vincent and all the others are curious about something and so Douglas asks me a question. He asks, “So Son
of God, what may we call you?”

Once again, I’m confronted with this question. I wonder if I should reveal my real name once and for all and stop being such a
mystery to everyone. Then again, I’m still really weak and living in my father’s shadow. I still want to do as he did. Even if I never find him, it’s still his path that I’m walking on, so like he
never revealed his identity to others, I will do the same. Plus, I have a great idea for a name I want these people to know me as.

I tell them, “I’m the son of God. Call me Jesus.”

This character bio will surely top all the rest. My name is Jesus. I’m the son of God. Like my Father, I too fell from the sky to
reveal wisdom to an island of natives who need it. Like my Father, I too will teach them how to live the good life and I will educate them on everything I know about life in the Heaven they need to
know about.

That’s me. That’s who I am as far as Douglas and Vincent and all the rest are concerned.

I really think this is it. I think this might just be the beginning of the end for me. If I understand Douglas correctly, it
seemed that five years ago, and five years after my Father first arrived on the island, was when He decided to swim out into the Atlantic and never return to shore. He didn’t have a boat and He
didn’t have a plane. All He had was a Universal Orlando t-shirt, a camcorder, and not much else. He left the shirt and camcorder, and headed out to sea, alone, with nothing else. The natives think
He returned to Heaven, but I know He must have died out there. Eventually, He would have drowned to death. I’m not absolutely sure about this, but it makes enough sense for me to believe it, or
maybe I just want to believe it so that I know the journey to find my Father or at least find out what happened to Him is at an end.

I’m as weak now as I have ever been before. All I am is someone who wants to connect with my Father so much that I have to become
Him in order to do it. I am so weak that rather than creating my own destiny, I have to leach off of my Father’s. This is what I have always done and so I will continue to do it until I die.

The next five years I remain on that island. “This is my destiny,” I keep telling myself. After all, who could have believed that
I would have done everything my father basically did? Who could believe that Steve and Lou were criminals who used people to make petty cash? It all ends here; not because of my choices, but
because of my Father’s choices and the destiny He created for us all.

In five years, I teach the natives anything they don’t already know. I tell them about all the cultures of Heaven that they don’t
already know about. I explain the Indian concepts of God, I talk about the Eifel tower; I explain the eruption history of Japanese mountains; I teach them how to be handy and how to live long and
happy fulfilling lives. I teach them what I should have been teaching the children I never stopped to meet. Is this redemption? Maybe it was for my Dad, but for me it’s just being an idiot.

In five years, I watch everyone grow, both physically and mentally; especially my brother Vincent. I watch him grow from being a
boy to being a young man: more mature, wise, and knowledgeable, thanks to me.

After five years go by, I leave the island. Like my Father before me, I tell my friends, my acquaintances, and my students, the
natives that I will be ascending back into Heaven. I tell them that there might even come a day when the Son of the Son of God will come and do as I and my Father have done. Maybe this will happen.
Maybe one of my kids will feel destined enough to try to find me as I tried to find My father and maybe idiot destiny will take that child back here. Or maybe it’s all just bull shit. I don’t know.

All I know is I’m heading out to sea. I’m alone out here with nothing but blue water around me and blue sky above me. Just as I
was born and just as I lived, I will die here alone. This is the plan. I, the son of the original bastard maker, am leaving now, forever and ever.

So goodbye to you all. My life has always been a life of mystery and idiocy, and it all ends here. So to anyone still paying
attention to this, my unfortunate life story, this is your beloved, misguided, following, womanizing, pathetic, miserable tour guide…